And the Berlin Wall Went Up
by Satiah
Summary: This was the worst detention of Gilbert's life.


Axis Powers Hetalia (c) Hidekazu Himaruya

...

He was backlit by a radiant, fiery glow. His cloak spilled down his back while he unhurriedly surveyed the battle situation before him; majestic stance betraying none of his deeply buried uncertainty. He gallantly strode forward, halting only because he felt like it; not because the frosty gaze blowing from ice-cold eyes ahead prompted this sudden cessation of action. No, Gilbert would be intimidated by none of the poorly planned threats or silent taunts of the enemy! He would lay waste to this encirclement, triumphantly break through the ranks which blocked him from reaching his objective, and -

"Gilbert Weillschmidt ," a screeching, wraith-like voice twisted across the battlefield, snaking its way to him from deep within the enemy's stronghold.

"Mrs. Héderváry," Gilbert barely acknowledged the upstart oppressor with more than the simplest of nods, deciding she was hardly worth the meager attention he had already bestowed upon her humble appearance.

"Gilbert, I'll say this only once more," the enemy's voice grated on, hurting his awesome ears as it rose to a piercing shout. _"Stop cutting my class!"_

Gilbert looked at the irate woman with distain. Since when did he take orders from the common layperson? Was she so foolish as to actively challenge _him _on this very field of battle? He scoffed.

She became angry.

Gilbert wasn't entirely sure what transpired next: One moment he was holding his ground, proud and defiant of the usurper's (self-perceived) authority, but the next...well, it had all happened so fast! He found himself lying on his back, staring blankly into the harsh, unforgiving glare of angry lights; lights which served the purpose of illuminating the first floor gym. His head swam, his vision seemed to circle around the room without the accompaniment of his physical body, and his ears resounded with a high-pitched, unmelodious, screaming note that absolutely pierced through his thoughts. He struggled to right himself, bringing his throbbing body into a sitting position, surprised at the amount of pain which blossomed above his left temple.

He was even more surprised to see a frying pan, still ringing with an eerie shriek of wretchedness, dangling from the teacher's right hand. She bent down until her unfeeling eyes were level with his stinging face. Then she growled at him. "Miss another class, _Weillschmidt_, and you're in The Hole."

The Hole. Solitary confinement. Complete and utter isolation from one's peers; an unforgiving place where the worst of them were thrown, abandoned, and left to suffer in nothing less than absolute misery for hours on end.

(Otherwise known as detention.)

Gilbert never did like to back down from a fight, but he knew when it was best to surrender. He nodded gingerly and winced when fireworks rocketed themselves into sparkling brilliance before his eyes; he reluctantly conceded her the tactical victory. But only this once.

The next day found Gilbert studying the busy hall, crowded with students from every nationality imaginable, all scurrying off to their classes as the two-minute warning bells sounded to mark the nearing end of passing time. Thinking critically of the anger-flushed cheeks and fury-possessed eyes of the gym teacher, Gilbert abruptly turned his nose to the air, silently issuing a defiant challenge for her to come and get him. But when he subsequently remembered the way her white knuckles mercilessly gripped the handle of her cast iron frying pan, Gilbert's rebellious attitude began to wither. Uncertain as to what he should do, Gilbert hesitantly dawdled in the hallway until the final bell began its obnoxious ring, alerting all students that if they were caught outside of their classrooms, they would most certainly be facing time in the Hole.

Gilbert had already made up his mind. He was late for class, so going would only result in a detention, whereas fleeing would only earn him one _if he was caught_. With a smug, self-satisfied shrug, Gilbert pivoted upon one polished boot heel and faced the stairwell leading to the roof. No security guards would look for students up there; they never did, which was precisely why it remained Gilbert's favorite skipping destination.

Gilbert strode passed the door to the women's bathroom on his way through the last of the hall before the stairwell. As his foot alighted the first step, he felt a subzero chill snake up the length of his spine, ending in a severe spread across the back of his neck like a death grip administered by ice-frozen corpses. A feeling of encountering the inescapable shadow of Death itself descended upon him, trapping him in place so successfully he found he couldn't even will his feet to budge him out of danger.

And that's when she hit him with the frying pan once more.

He awoke, dizzy and in pain, drooling slightly from the corner of his mouth onto the profanity-adorned, pencil-etched desk beneath his burning, throbbing face. Groaning, he sluggishly held his aching head in both hands, hoping desperately for the stars in front of his eyes to just put themselves back into their original orbits already. He was dimly aware of a large hand clamping upon his shoulder, squeezing slightly in what he presumed was a comforting gesture.

"Gilbert," a deep voice whispered, "are you alright?"

Gilbert's head still throbbed and the pain made him irritable, but he held back his initial urge to answer in the most spiteful ways he could think of. Instead, he opted for a more subtle approach: "Who wants to know?" he growled.

A soft chuckle answered, and the hand gave his shoulder another reassuring squeeze.

Gilbert knew that laugh. After carefully raising his head, he peered through his fingers at the student seated next to him. "Brüder?" he asked, surprised. _Ludwig, here? In detention?_ That wasn't like him, seeing how he was such a stickler for following rules, regulations, and obeying all available authority figures.

An affirmative grunt answered.

"What are you doing here?" Gilbert asked.

"They caught me in the hall after the final bell." Ludwig grimaced. "I had just freed Raivis from Ivan's locker. I managed to get him to his next class, but the security guards caught me before I reached mine."

"Brüder..." Gilbert breathed. "Why didn't you explain?"

"I did. They don't listen."

Well, that was true.

"What are you in here for?" Ludwig asked, wondering what Gilbert had done this time.

"Skipping. Gym class."

"Oh."

The teacher in charge of detentions, a strict, no-nonsense type of man, glowered at the two brothers. "If I may remind you," he said, voice frosty and unmistakably disapproving, "there is _no_ talking in detention."

"Yes, Mr. Zwingli," said Ludwig.

"_Che_," muttered Gilbert.

Silence descended heavily upon the two students, and they wore it uncomfortably around their slouched shoulders until Gilbert could take no more. Basking in the opportunity to spill a second acidic glare at the pint-sized instructor, Gilbert soon turned to his brother with a conspiring tone in his whisper. "Ludwig."

"What?"

"I was just thinking...you know that Feliks guy?"

"Yes."

"Well, maybe we could pull a prank on him."

"Why?"

"To do it."

"He'd get back at you, you know. Somehow."

"Nah. He's too blonde, if you know what I mean."

"_I'm_ blonde."

"Oops." A moment's thought passed before he continued. "You're right, Ludwig. It'd be a much awesomer plan if we just messed with that stupid aristocrat."

"You mean Roderich?"

"Yeah. Him. I can't stand him."

"What are you thinking of?"

"Dunno. Something awesome. Maybe I'll stuff his pansy butt in Ivan's locker. What a surprise _that'll_ be," Gilbert chuckled at the thought of a very rumpled Austrian stumbling out of his prison, only to find himself captured in the arms of the schools' most fearsome bully. Ivan would undoubtably chase Roderich around for _weeks_ if this worked, harassing him on principle, just because he would have been unfortunate enough to appear on the Russian's radar of possible targets.

Ludwig looked contemplative. "It would probably work," he affirmed with a hand on his chin while he pondered the likeliest outcome. "But what would happen if Ivan actually caught him afterwards?"

Gilbert grinned. _That's when things would get interesting_.

"I'm not sure what would happen to _him_," a clipped voice interjected, "but I believe I have already told you to cease talking." Mr. Zwingli glowered at the two German students before him, thoroughly vexed, before ordering them to separate their seats. After they had relocated to a satisfactory distance, Zwingli motioned towards the door where a large, looming figure substantialized from the shadows of the hall, footsteps echoing cruelly through the room's spartan interior. Ivan was seated quickly between the brothers, cold grin and bloody knuckles explaining clearly why he was serving time in the Hole today.

With Ivan's appearance, an uncomfortably awkward silence took hold of the room's atmosphere with thick, ugly fingers, strangling the comfort previously shared between the Germans. Fidgeting, Gilbert tried to adjust to the intrusion, but found himself unable to ignore Ivan's triumphant eyes, the wet blood smeared on both his hands and desk, and his immense coat-covered body, which effectually provided a physical barrier between Gilbert and his brother. Gilbert couldn't even see Ludwig anymore, and that made him feel lonely.

Slumping down in his seat, Gilbert toyed with his pencil, careful not to make too much noise lest the Russian become annoyed. Instead, he expertly twirled it around his fingers, pausing every so often to pet his most awesome little bird when it chose to abandon its perch on his head to hop around the desk. Several quick glances in Ludwig's direction only served to increase the heavy emptiness inside Gilbert, leaving him lonesome and unsure of what he should be doing. It didn't help that each glance was unfailingly met by Ivan's unnerving smile, plastered patiently to his face as he sat still as stone. And according to the clock, Gilbert had yet to endure the awkwardness of this most unfortunate situation for another 28 minutes.

The real punishment had only just begun.

... ... ...

A/N: This was obviously not meant to be taken as a serious piece of historiography. At all.

But it did have a few random little facts hidden in it. For example, "The Hole" is prison jargon for solitary confinement. And Soviet Russia played a major part in the construction of the Berlin Wall, thus the appearance of Ivan. The Wall then lasted for 28 years (from 1961 to 1989) and...that's about all the smart stuff I could come up with. orz


End file.
